


Stand By Me

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate universe-1940s, Angst, Concentration Camps, Death, Dehydration, Depression, Diseases, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Labor, Gen, Hiding, Homophobia, Loss, M/M, Manipulation, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Murder, Nazi Germany, Nudity, Paranoia, Racism, Rememberance, Sadism, Starvation, Suicide, Torture, Violence, anti semiatics, gas chambers, graphic content, hard labor, lice, racual slurs, terrible living conditions, typhoid - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's family has a secret beneath the floorboards of their house. Sworn to secrecy Dean struggles not only to keep the secret, but to understand the racism he's been taught and how it is a lie. </p><p>Castiel Novak has been forced into hiding with his family after his sister recieved a letter for deportation. He deplores the son of the family they're staying with, having been beaten up by him, and struggled to understand prejudice, the true nature of hatred and forgiveness. </p><p>The two boys find solace in one another over time, and when danger comes too close for comfort, they realize that some bonds not even hatred can break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The interview

**Author's Note:**

> 1) this contains graphic depictions of concentration camp life. Reader discretion is advised.  
> 2) do not repost or copy.  
> 3) will be updated regularly  
> 4) I mean no disrespect to any persons. This is a work of fiction.  
> 5) triggers will be tagged.  
> 6) enjoy

Chuck licked his hand and slicked his hair back once more. He really couldn't believe his luck. He made a mental note to thank Dean again later as he knocked on the door.

 

His term paper was due in a week, and he had no idea what to do for it. Until Dean suggested an interview, then went a step further and asked his own great grandfather of he minded Chuck interviewing him for his paper. The old man had apparently given his blessing, leading Chuck to where he was now.

 

Dean grinned at his friend as he opened the door. People often wondered why on earth Dean was friends with Chuck and Chuck wondered that sometimes too. Dean was big, muscular, with tawny hair and green eyes. He played football at their college, while Chuck was on the newspaper staff and blended in with the walls. But Dean had stuck by him and confided in him. They were good buddies.

 

"Come on. Pop Pop's in the living room." Dean stepped to the side, opening the door wider for Chuck to come inside. Chuck smiled and nodded to his friend.

 

The foyer was wide, the walls covered in red wallpaper with flower patterns. The floor beneath Chuck's feet was made of hardwood and the walls were adorned with photographs. Some old, some new, some black and white, others color. Chuck glanced at them when one in particular caught his eye.

 

It was an old photograph, black and white. There was a man, no older than seventeen maybe eighteen. He was leaning over the hood of a car, head and upper torso under the hood and leaning over the engine. His head was turned, looking over his shoulder. . A younger boy in his early teens stood next to him proudly, a grin on his face.

 

"That's my Pop Pop and Uncle Sam. They were brothers. Uncle Sam passed away two years ago....Pop Pop is this way," he motioned for Chuck to follow him down the hall and to the living room area.

 

The foyer opened up into a beautiful living room. The wallpaper was cream colored and the carpet a deep Crimson color. Book shelves lined the walls, there was no tv to be found. Instead, a beautiful bay window overlooking a gorgeous garden took up the entire right side of the living room. An old man sat in a green lazy boy recliner, watching the flowers outside blow softly in the wind.

 

Dean motioned for Chuck to sit on one of the sofas that lined the left wall as he went and knelt by his great grandfather. The old man smiled.

 

"The honey bees are out collecting today," he lifted a withered finger. "They've been very busy." His accent was thick and his voice was deeper than Chuck had been expecting. He sat his bag on his lap and went through it to find his tape recorder.

 

"It's very pretty Pop Pop. But my friend's here. The one that you said you wanted to talk too." He grabbed the top of the recliner and turned it slowly so his grandfather faced Chuck. Chuck smiled awkwardly as the old man eyes him.

 

His hair was white, thick and tangled on the top of his head, creases of skin folded together over his eyebrows. His eyes were a bright, alert blue color, thick eyelashes curled over them, crow's feet danced along the outer ridges. His smile was small and kind. He rocked gently in the recliner. Dean knelt beside him.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Chuck," he cleared his throat. "My name is Chuck Shurley." The old man nodded, his eyes falling to the tape recorder in Chuck's lap.

 

"My name is Castiel Winchester. This is my grandson Dean Samuel," Dean chuckled and patted his grandfather's hand. The old man turned his curious gaze on him.

 

"He knows Pop Pop this is my friend." Castiel rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, before looking back at Chuck.

 

"So....you want to talk to me about the war?" Chuck clicked play in the tape recorder, setting it on the end table in front of him.

 

"Yes sir. As much as you remember." Castiel's eyes glazed over for a moment. He stared hard at the wall before finding his voice again. It was distant, far off, like his mind was gone but his body was there. "Were you a soldier?" Castiel shook his head, it was only then Chuck saw the faded blue tattoo on his inner arm. Castiel scratched at it absently. Chuck felt his stomach flip with realization.

 

"No....no I was-" he faded off again, his mind moving faster than his lips. Dean shook his head and placed a hand on his Pop Pop's shoulder. He smiled at Chuck apologetically.

 

"Maybe you should come back-"

 

"No!" Castiel barked, he gripped Dean's wrist, yanking him back down. His eyes were wide with fear and pleading. "No! Please let me. I remember. I remember." Dean nodded slowly, shocked by the sudden, uncharacteristic action by his grandfather. Castiel took a deep, shaky breath. Chuck leaned forward, ready to soak in every word.

 

"I have never spoken a word of this to anyone before. Your uncle and I we....We wanted him to rest in peace...So we kept quiet. But...

It's at the end of one's life that you realize some secrets shouldn't be buried. I want you to know. Someone needs to remember him after I'm gone....someone needs to know how much I loved him. How special he was to me. I was thirteen years old when they sent a summons for my sister....At the time we knew that meant she would be sent away to one of the camps. We had heard stories. Rumors, so terrifying....My father was a businessman, we weren't rich, but we weren't exactly without either. He had a friend, a Christian friend, high up in the business. They agreed to hide us for the duration of the war. I met the man who saved my life, there in that household. He was the bravest man I ever knew.....but I guess, is that where I should begin? Maybe so...I came home from school that day with Claire...."

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bullying, violence

"I miss my bike," Claire groaned, nuzzling her face into the crook of Castiel's neck. It was a warm September day and school had been let out early. Castiel was in the middle grades while Claire was still in grammar school.people bustled about their business on the streets of the small German town, going into shops and conversating on the sidewalk. It was a very beautiful day.He squeezed the back of her legs gently, shifting her position against his back, her curly blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze tickled his jaw.

 

"Me too little sister. We had much fun racing didn't we?" He felt her smile into his neck.

 

"Yeah we did didn't we?" When the nazis came into power they set out a long list of rules. Like bicycles, Jews could not own a bicycle, Claire had cried when herd had been confiscated. A brand on the front of Castiel's and Claire's coats labels them as Jews and they were forced to go to separate schools. There were more rules, things they had taken for granted in the past that they weren't allowed anymore. Castiel sighed as he rounded the corner, about a block away from their home.

 

"The war will be over soon Claire. When the war is over we'll have a big bowl of ice cream and go to a film." Claire lifted her head, resting her chin on Castiel's shoulder and pressing her cheek against his. She looked like their mother, soft blue eyes, pale skin, plump pink lips and blonde hair. He resembled their father, her black hair that was untamable to say the least, crystal blue eyes and olive skin.

 

"Promise? We'll see a romantic film right? I like those best." Castiel groaned internally, but smiled and turned his head as best he could to look at his little sister.

 

"Cross my heart." She kissed his cheek, squeezing her arms tighter to wrap him in an embrace.

 

"Hey! Hey Jude!" Castiel cringed inwardly at the word and walked briskly, whispering a soft apology to Claire when he squeezed her to hard. He heard footsteps running behind them and picked up the pace. Their apartment was almost in sight.

 

"Hey! You stop when I'm talking to you!" A tawny haired boy with green eyes and freckles rounded in front of Castiel and jabbed his finger into Castiel's chest. A sneer on his face. He wore the uniform of the 'Youth of Hitler' and looked to be at least one year older than him. Castiel wouldn't admit to how bad his hands were shaking as his buddies surrounded them. Claire whimpered lightly in Castiel's ear, twisting her fists in his shirt.

 

"Why do you go to school? You are lazy! You don't learn anything! You are a waste of teacher's time!" Claire cried out as one of the other children grabbed a fist full of her blonde curls and tugged her backwards. She fell, with a grunt, on the concrete. The boys laughed. Castiel turned to hell his sister when he doubled over, a sharp pain exploding in his lower abdomen.

 

"Get up Jew! Why don't you fight back! Your poor sister will get worse than you!" Castiel struggled, trying to move to Claire. One of the boys had a pair of scissors in hand, Castiel felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. Warm liquid poured from his nose and a metallic taste could be felt on his tongue. He fell to the ground and curled in on himself, helpless, unable to fight back and unable to save his sister as the boys began cutting her beautiful hair. The boy who started it, the one with the green eyes, grabbed a fistful of Castiel's hair and yanked his head back.

 

"You are worthless. Dirt. Filth. No one will miss you when you die. We'll be glad to be rid of you." He let go of Castiel's hair only to kick him hard, foot connecting with the underside of his jaw. White hot pain exploded in Castiel's mind. He heard Claire shriek.

 

"Hey! Get out from in front of my shop!" The voice was older, deeper than the young boys tormenting him and his sister. Castiel moved his head and opened his eyes as best he could. A shopkeeper stood outside with a broom in hand, glaring at the group in front of him. "Stop loitering in front of my shop! Go now!" The boy that started the attack stood straighter and crossed his arms.

 

"We were teaching this filth a lesson. Mind your business old man." He snarled when the older man lifted his broom and pointed at them.

 

"I do not care! Get out from in front of my shop! You hinder my business! Get out!" The green eyed boy spat on Castiel, he felt the saliva slide down his cheek. With one last kick to his back the crowd began to disperse.

 

"Stupid Jews. Who needs you." Castiel groaned and rolled over into his stomach. He felt soft hands, Claire's hands, on him, checking him over.

 

"Castiel? Brother are you alright?" Her voice was in near hysterics. Castiel shifted, placing his palms flat on the cold cement, he pushed. His whole body ached, Claire threw his arm over her shoulder, apologizing profusely when he gasped in pain. Castiel finally got a good look at her, he wanted to cry.

 

Claire's hair was missing big chunks, there were points in her scalp where her head was bleeding from having her hair yanked out. Dirt stained her clothes and tear tracks ran down her cheeks. She reached up and wiped the saliva off of Castiel's face, wiping it in the edge of her coat.

 

"I'm sorry Claire," Castiel's voice was broken and hoarse. She shook her head as they began to take slow steps towards their home. "I mean it Claire. I know how much your hair meant to you-"

 

"My hair will grow back as it has before....I'm more worried about you," Castiel clutched his stomach, doubled over and walking as slowly as possible. "Are you going to be alright?" Castiel swallowed thickly and nodded, spitting in the sidewalk. His saliva tinted pink from the blood in his mouth.

 

"I'll be fine. Let's go home." But he wasn't fine. Castiel felt a deep sense of shame and disgust. He didn't ask to be Jewish, he didn't ask to be hated. He squeezed Claire's shoulder absently as his stomach churned with guilt and remorse. He wished he was of Aryan descent. He wished he was like them. A lump formed in his throat, and it had nothing to do with the pain in his limps.

 

-0-0-

 

"Hello?"

 

"Jimmy?!" Amelia Novak couldn't keep the fear out of her voice as she phoned her husband. It was a quarter to four in the afternoon, he'd be home in a half hour, but this was urgent, more important than anything. Jimmy picked up on her fear.

 

"What is it? What's wrong? Are the children okay?" Amelia took a shaky breath.

 

"The children are fine I believe, still at school. But....but Claire-" she choked on a sob, swallowing hard, her shoulders shook and her grip tightened on the telephone.

 

"Claire what?" Jimmy's tone was bordering annoyance. He loved his wife but was a very busy man. He needed to stay on top of things to keep his job. He could lose it any day.

 

"She has received a summons Jimmy. They-they want to take her," the other end of the line went quiet. Amelia grabbed her handkerchief and dabbed her cheeks with it, holding the fabric against her lips as a soft, sweet sob escaped her. They knew it was only a matter of time, they assumed it would be one of them first, not the children. She heard Jimmy take a deep breath, always in control he got a grip on himself and spoke in a calming, soothing tone to his distraught wife.

 

"We knew it was going to happen. Everything has been set in motion. Amelia, when the children come home do as we discussed and take them. Leave the house exactly as it is now, I will meet you when I finish my work here. Be discreet and make sure the children know to only take what they can carry." Amelia chewed on her bottom lip, the taste of lipstick was familiar and bitter in her tongue. She twirled the phone cord between her fingers.

 

"And you will meet us after?"

 

"I will meet you after." Jimmy affirmed. Amelia felt herself nodding, even though he could not see her.

 

"I love you." It was quieter, her voice was still shaky but she had a better footing now than when she had first contacted her husband.

 

"I love you as well. Be quick Amelia."

 

The front door opened as she was hanging up the telephone. She turned and was shocked to find her children in a horrifying state.

 

Claire's head was bleeding, blood caked side of her face and her hair was cut and sheeted in some places. Her bottom lip was split and her knuckles bruised and battered. The eleven year old was holding up her brother, Castiel, who was in a worse state. Amelia flocked to her children immediately, the impending danger forgotten for the moment.

 

"Claire! Castiel! What happened to you?" She gently grasped her son's chin in her hand and lifted his face. His left eye was swollen, almost shut, a dark purple bruise formed under the other. His lips were split and cracked and a yellowish bruise covered his cheek, he groaned when Claire shifted under his weight. "Who did this to you? Why are you not in school?" Castiel tried to wave his mother away.

 

"I'm fine mother. Really. We got out of school early." Amelia didn't buy for a second that they were fine. Not at all. But there were more pressing, urgent, matters at hand. She reached out and placed her hands on her children's shoulders.

 

"Listen to me. I want an explanation later for why you both have come home looking like you were hit by a freight train-Castiel do not interrupt me. For now I need you to empty your backpacks and stuff them full. Only what you can carry with you darlings. We're going on vacation." Her words were fast, tumbling out of her mouth in a hurry. They didn't have much time. Claire tilted her head, looking at her mother with piqued curiousity.

 

"Mama are we alright?" Amelia gave her, what she hoped was a confident smile and a swift nod of the head, "yes my love. We're fine. I just need you to get packed. Father is meeting us. Oh and," she grabbed their arms before they could turn and run to their rooms, "I mean it. Later, I want a real explanation as to why you both look like this. I want to know who did it and why," she let go of her children and ran her fingers through her hair. The letter lay open, stained with tears on the table. She snatched it up, crumpled it, and threw it in the garbage. She didn't care who Hitler thought he was. He was not taking her children.

 

-0-0-

 

"Castiel are you packed?" Claire stood in the doorway of her brother's room. It had only taken her fifteen minutes to pack, but he couldn't decide what to take. Only important things, things that meant the most to him. He forgot how much he really did love everything he had. Claire sat on the edge of his bed as he stuffed a hardback book into his bag.

 

"Almost. Packing is a lot harder than I thought." Claire giggled, kicking her feet and covering her mouth with her hand. Even with her hair as messed up as it was she was still beautiful.

 

"You can be so silly sometimes." Castiel laughed with her for a moment before they returned to silence. He went to shut his bs and seal it when a sma hand rested overtop of his. "I'm scared Castiel." He looked up to see tears forming in his sister's eyes. "What's going to happen to us?" He sighed, his eyebrow furrowing.

 

They both knew what 'vacation' meant. Their parents had told them from the get go of this plan that things were dangerous for Jews and families were being killed and separated. They were going to a secret hideaway, where they would stay for the remainder of the war, if, if one of them was summoned to report for deportation. This sudden desire to go on 'vacation' meant a letter had arrived for one of them. But only their mother and father knew who.

 

Castiel stood and wrapped his little sister in a tight hug. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent. He kissed the top of her head and patted her back.

 

"Do not worry. Father said John Winchester is a good man and he and his family would be glad to take us in. We'll be safe. And when the war is over everything will be just like it was." Claire pulled away, her eyes glistened with fresh tears, making the blue of them seem even deeper. She held up her pinky,

 

"Promise?" Castiel hesitated. Something told him in the back of his mind not to. That he couldn't keep that promise. He stuffed the voices back to the back of his mind and locked his pinky with his little sister's.

  
"Promise."


End file.
